


Greener Pastures

by Artemis1000



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Mind Games, Psychological Torture, Religion, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000
Summary: Repent, she says, and mercy will be given. There is an ever-growing part of Elisabeth that wants to believe her, though she has never known mercy to end any other way than in death.In 258 years of being their prisoner, the vampiress Elisabeth has never known a torturer like Nadia. None has made her want to believe in her order's mercy as much as she does, and none has come as close to breaking her.
Relationships: An ancient vampire imprisoned for centuries by a Holy Order/The Order's reluctant torturer, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28
Collections: Writing Rainbow Green





	Greener Pastures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StopTalkingAtMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTalkingAtMe/gifts).



> Dubious consent for Elisabeth being Nadia's prisoner. General mindfuckery.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

When Elisabeth lifts her head to meet Nadia’s eyes, she is unsurprised to find her with her brows furrowed in genuine confusion, an almost tortured expression on her deceptively doll-like face – she takes note of the irony and her blood-splattered smile widens with it.

Elisabeth has known many wardens and torturers over the centuries, most of them fueled by the fire of divine purpose and some of them burdened by good old-fashioned guilt but none of them has ever worn their conscience as openly – or prettily – on their face as Nadia.

She licks the blood from her lips, slow and languidly, making a show of savoring it though her own blood tastes shale and rotten and has no life left to give her.

Nadia shifts uncomfortably, her face twitching in what is beyond doubt some manner of sanctimonious anguish, and Elisabeth’s smile widens another toothy notch. She drops her gaze to Nadia’s jugular, standing out starkly against skin that is almost vampire-pale – another irony, Nadia is full of these, which makes her Elisabeth’s favorite torturer. One more reason is how much she dislikes being called her favorite torturer.

“You could submit,” Nadia insists. Her hands are balled into fists, which only emphasizes the spiked brass knuckles she wears. She likes to bring a modern, down-to-earth touch to her craft; Elisabeth has learned to appreciate it, really. “If you would just confess to your sins and _repent_ …” She hisses that last word, all the anguish has gone, replaced with the holy fire they are all fueled by, her holy order which is so hell-bent to save the world one bloody death at a time.

Elisabeth spits out a glob of saliva and blood, but she aims at the filthy concrete floor of her cell, not at Nadia. She is a vampire, not a brute. “I could.” She barks a humorless laugh. There’s nothing funny to see here, hasn’t been in centuries. “But I won’t.”

Nadia scowls at her in sheer frustration, looking so deliciously pained again for a moment, and then she makes a disgusted noise and steps away from Elisabeth, pacing the tiny cell.

Elisabeth, all tied up with her wrists chained to the ceiling and her ankles to the floor, is in no position to pace. She blows a grimy red curl out of her face, briefly wishing they would shave her head again as they used to do in the 19th century. Then again, Nadia wouldn’t. Nadia likes her hair too much – gripping it and yanking it and burying her hands in her curls.

“Your idea of repentance… I know all the ways in which your order purifies a soul.” She grins, flashing fangs sharpened to a needle-point. Captivity has done nothing to dull them. “Fire. Holy water.” She pauses. “Drowning, of course, but that’s for witches.” Another pause, a cock of her head. “Do you still hunt witches?”

Nadia whirls to face her and dares to look wounded of all things. “Don’t mock our mission, demon! We stand between the light and the darkness. You know nothing of our sacrifices!”

“Right. I only know how you treat your sacrificial lambs, and I can’t say I’m impressed.”

“You could repent!” Her voice echoes through the dungeon like a whiplash.

Elisabeth’s breath catches in her throat. Nadia is never more beautiful than when she is driven by this holy fury.

Yet for all that Nadia is lovely, they are turning in circles. The debate never goes anywhere once it goes that way and Elisabeth tired of it a century or two before Nadia was even born. Of course, there have been few of her torturers who actually sought to convince her with words. Iron and holy water were preferred by most, to burn the wickedness out of her. She still didn’t repent. She had witnessed their mercy too often to fall prey to its empty promises. It had just gotten hard to remember why she even bothered holding on – until Nadia had first walked into the dungeon, anyway.

“I could. I won’t.” She shifts, her chains rattle. “Can’t we get to the fun part already?”

Nadia’s spine straightens. “You…” She cuts herself off, lips pressed together in a thin line. Her hands ball into fists again. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

Sweetness serves you better than vitriol when you are in chains, yet Elisabeth can’t help the scoff. “Don’t complain to me. You’re the one with the keys.”

Nadia scrutinizes her for long moments with this intense expression on her face, then she walks up to Elisabeth and grasps a fistful of hair, and her lips smash against her own.

There is nothing sweet about the kiss but there is nothing sweet about them either. Elisabeth laughs into the kiss, hoarse and a little bitter, and bites down on Nadia’s tongue until she tastes blood that is full of life.

There are scars on her body, the marks of too many of Nadia’s kindred who sought to burn the wickedness out of her with iron and holy water. Nadia’s rough fingers know to find each and every scar.

Elisabeth writhes under her hands and her mouth; the dizzying hum of fresh blood in her veins heightening every sensation.

Nadia never lets her touch in turn, she does not dare. It is a wise choice, one of the few wise ones she makes.

Elisabeth shatters too soon under her hands and she does feel like she shatters, Nadia’s pleasure leaving her no less weak or vulnerable than the holy water and whips of her predecessors.

There is no sweet lingering aftermath, not for them, not for what they are.

Elisabeth hangs limply in her chains and Nadia looks tortured again as she wipes the slick from her fingers on a grimy piece of cloth that others had used to clean blood from the instruments of their trade.

“You have to repent,” she insists, and she still looks so pained. Her beautiful green eyes drop and her brows furrow again. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

Elisabeth, still limp and weak and with the buzz of far too little blood to sustain her already fading, leaving her deader than before – or at least more keenly aware of what is forever lost to her – looks away first. “I…”

She can’t. She knows their mercy.

But Nadia speaks of mercy, of real mercy, of changed times and new commanders of the order with new ideas and sometimes, she speaks of what could be.

Sometimes, more rarely, she speaks of her doubts and then Elisabeth almost believes she will take her keys and finally use them.

Something will have to give. Someone will have to break.

And for the first time in 258 years, Elisabeth no longer knows who will break first.


End file.
